


Twelve Primaries: Sparrow and Peacock

by bluewhitewings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, Comeplay, Cum on wings, Dirty Talk, Flogging, Grace-Powered Orgasms, Light BDSM, M/M, POV Castiel, Rope Bondage, Top Dean, Wing Kink, Wing job, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1930188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluewhitewings/pseuds/bluewhitewings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a small, even smuttier follow up to Twelve Primaries that I wrote in an afternoon.  Not beta'd, not proofread more than once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve Primaries: Sparrow and Peacock

It was dark, cold outside.  Sam was away for the evening, and had taken the computer with him.  Castiel stayed, invisible and silent, and watched over Dean, curiosity prompting him to observe his habits when Sam was not there.  It was always an interesting cultural study to watch over Dean, because he did so much that Castiel did not understand.  For instance, he watched simulated coitus on the television, but only when Sam was not present.  

Castiel had had one experience with sexual contact.  The night they had nearly died, when Lucifer’s abduction of Sam had been imminent, Castiel had indulged his drunken friend and shown him the wings that he normally kept hidden from view.  The hunter’s touch on his feathers had been like nothing he had ever felt before, electrifying, better than the touch of another of his kind, better than the spectrum of color that his brethren portrayed when they were courting.

He had slipped.  Where in Heaven his courtship would have been dignified, glorious, on Earth it was whiskey-flavored and smelled of the musk of sweat and sex.  Even so, Castiel recalled fondly, it had been _closer_ than he had ever been to anyone.   He had wrapped around Dean’s soul and it seemed, if only for a moment of bliss, that his human’s soul had responded in the language of courting angels, flaring and bright.

It had been wonderful.  And when they had returned, Castiel had hoped they could continue to court one another, and spend days and nights tangled in the effervescence of their bond while sweaty sheets clung to their bodies.  Of course, Dean had balked immediately.  Castiel’s efforts to be close to him were rebuffed, and it left him confused, dejected, his flaring wings faint and slumping. 

This time, it seemed, the hunter was having difficulty.  He watched him struggle, flesh straining and hard where it slipped through his hand but the release did not come as it usually did when prompted by the flickering images and tinny moans of the television screen.  The hunter was debauched by the time he gave up, jeans pooled around his thighs and his shaft an angry red.  Castiel watched him drop his head back to the hotel room pillow in obvious frustration and could not help the small feeling of vicious satisfaction.

He did not expect to see Dean sit up to pull his shirt off.  The hunter usually slept in a t-shirt at the very least, and this glance at his bare body caused his wings to fluff up, spirals of iridescence skittering off the walls, too bright to be seen by the human’s mundane sight.  Dean scooted out of his jeans as well, and Castiel paid very close attention to him.  It was very uncommon that Dean disrobed fully outside of the bathroom.

He also did not expect Dean to clasp his hands in front of him and whisper his name in a low, throaty voice with his springtime eyes closed.  A prayer, he realized, it was a prayer, his hunter was fully bare and praying for him.  Castiel moved closer, watching the man.

“Cas.  Uh.  You’re probably wondering why I’m naked.  For all I know you’re watchin’ me right now.  Pervert.”  Cas would have blushed, had he been corporeal.  Dean knew him so well.  “Anyway.  Lately I got to thinkin’ about that one night, and it... it was really good.  I got scared since then, cause my dad... well, never mind about him.  I mean, I got scared and I’m sorry.  And I’ll probably still be scared, but I wanna... I wanted you to know I uh... kinda got a thing for you now.”  

Dean’s face was flushed and his knuckles white where they clasped each other.  “So anyway, I need... I need somethin’ from you tonight.”  His bright eyes blinked open, casting about the room hopefully, and Castiel watched them fall as he failed to appear.  “Amen, I guess.” he added in disappointment.

Castiel was torn.  On the one hand, Dean was asking rather sweetly for his company, and was being polite even.  On the other hand, Castiel knew what he was asking for, and it wasn’t allowed.  He had a mission.  He had his orders to follow.  He had insurmountable reasons for why he would not, would never answer the hunter’s prayer.

 

He crashed into Dean like a hurricane, seeking his mouth with his, pushing the larger man back to the bed as he tasted every molecule of his breath as it flew past his tongue and into Dean’s lungs.  Strong hands gripped his vessel, pushing him back and he allowed it, the rush of hormones and endorphins distracting like a fog of gnats to a tiger.

Dean’s soul was flickering and bright, and Castiel waited, watching it with his true sight, and watching his face through the window of his vessel’s eyes.

“Cas, I... want _something_.  Can you...”  Dean was silent for a moment and Castiel felt the unspoken words.  Dean wanted something _specific_.  Castiel watched him, silently promising him anything, _everything_ he wanted.  Dean lifted his gaze to Cas and wet his lips.  “I want to see your wings again.” he said, and Castiel flared the limbs in question.  Of all the things he’d done with Dean, showing him his wings, the manifestation of his grace, was likely the most forbidden.

But Castiel was already unfurling them from his back, pulling on a coat of flesh and feathers as he spread them wide for the hunter beneath him.  Dusky feathers of midnight and white shimmered in the low, yellowed light of the hotel room and he felt the sharp gasp of his hunter as he sat back on his heels, his black suiting clad knees pressed to the bed on either side of Dean’s hips.  

Dean’s wide eyes skated over the top edge of the limbs, then flicked back to Castiel’s.  “I want to...”  He halted, swallowed, and his eyes grew scared.  

“Dean.” he encouraged in what he hoped was a soft voice.  He had very little control over the vocal cords he currently possessed.  “Anything.” he promised.

Dean pushed himself up on his elbows, looking not at Castiel’s face, but at his chest.  And as the hunter’s hands skated over the false fibers of his tie and tightened, he began to understand the request.  “I need to tie you up, Cas.  I need you to be bent over for me.”  His cock twitched, filling against his belly and Castiel glanced down at it with interest.  “Spread and tied and bent over.”  

Castiel felt that Dean was censoring himself, and that perhaps his desires ran deeper than simply binding him, but Dean could do nothing harmful to him that he could not stop first.  He nodded in acquiescence and moved off of Dean.  His wings automatically adjusted for his balance, and he could not help but see the way Dean’s eyes followed them.  He stretched one out, spreading his great pinions to stretch and flash the white between them to the hunter.  It was a very suggestive motion among angels, almost obscene.  Sweeping it low, he stretched the shoulder joint, then lifted it, letting it fold and then stretching inner joints before folding it to his back again.

Dean was staring, openmouthed and hard, his cock throbbing with his heartbeat as Cas carefully, intentionally repeated the motion with the other wing.  Dean seemed to enjoy his feathers, and Castiel certainly had no reason to protest, especially when Dean left the bed to grip his tie and haul him forward into a kiss. 

Castiel enjoyed kissing, he knew that.  He had done it before, with Meg and with Dean, but this was different.  He wasn’t starting it.  Dean’s mouth collided with his hard and rough, biting and nipping and Castiel was off balance, struggling to keep up as Dean shoved him back against the low dresser in the hotel room and shoved a thigh between his legs.  The hunter kept him close with the tie that he had wrapped in his strong grip, and Castiel spread his wings wide, knocking a small stand of information from the desk with his feathers.

Dean reached between them, taking Castiel’s groin in his hand and squeezing almost to the point of pain before letting up, and Castiel’s hips followed his hand as he breathed a moan into his mouth, his eyes fluttering closed against the sensation.  “Did you feel that?” the hunter growled roughly, bouncing the heavy flesh with his hand.  When Castiel did not respond he squeezed again.  “I asked you a question, Cas.  You feel that?”  Castiel breathed out slowly, feeling the pain as a distant tingle.

“Yes,” he breathed.  Dean’s grin was a sickle against his jaw.  

“Good.”  He gripped his collar and his thigh ground forward to take the place of his rough hand.  “I know you’re all angelic, but I know you can let yourself feel stuff otherwise you wouldn’t be hard right now.” Dean stated confidently, and Castiel rolled himself along Dean’s thigh with needful abandon, his hands fisted in the hunter’s shoulders.  “Hey.  Listen to me.” Dean’s hand gripped his face and jerked his attention back to him.  “I need you to feel pain, too.”  Castiel’s need flickered and he furrowed his brow, tilting his head to the side.  

Something in Dean’s expression was uncertain.  He wanted to ask, but he knew it would send Dean skittering away from him, so he did not.  He simply bowed his head in a slow nod, keeping his gaze fixed on Dean’s face.  

It took some struggle.  He was so used to being impervious to pain and human inconvenience that he found himself slipping back to his familiar place of indifference as soon as he realized that the weight of his wings was pulling hard on the muscles in his back, setting his shoulders ablaze with exhaustion.  

Dean seemed to see the slump of his wingspan and realize he was obeying, driving his thigh forward to press his legs apart.  The rough pressure of Dean’s leg grinding against the very root of his vessel’s erection making him twitch and leak against his pants.  “Dean,” he insisted, dragging his wings into himself.  “Need you.”  The hunter pulled back and released his tie, gripping the back of his neck and propelling him towards the bed.  

Castiel remembered the last time.  Dean warm against his back.  Dean’s fingers in his mouth, in his ass, and how he’d guided the angel into place beneath him.  Castiel quickly rid himself of his clothing and pressed himself chest first to the bed, his legs and wings spread wide for him.

Dean, it seemed, had other things in mind.  He felt strong fingers stroke through his hair in the moment before they fisted tight around the sable strands, and he cringed unbidden, eyes squeezing shut against the sudden clamoring of the nerves in his scalp.  “From now on, you do as I tell you.  All right?”  He scrambled upright to relieve the pull, sitting up so that he was sitting on his heels and still Dean pulled until his neck was arched back, throat exposed.  

“Yes!  _Dean_ ,” he trembled, and the heat of Dean’s mouth closed against his throat, a rough bite digging into his skin, leaving the impressions of perfect teeth.  

Castiel _keened_.  The presence of both pleasure and pain made his nerve endings sizzle, the bite activating some animal submission that was built into his borrowed flesh as his fingers curled against his thighs.   He felt Dean move away from him and he wondered if he would be allowed to watch him.  He let his head turn to follow the hunter with his eyes.  

Dean walked to his duffel and Castiel felt himself twitch again, the slick spill of excitement working its way down his length and cooling as it went.  He knew what Dean kept in that bag, and he had often wondered at the items kept coiled in a special bag at the bottom.  He knew Dean brought them out from time to time when he went with women, but had never thought to follow him.  Now he wondered if that had been a mistake as Dean pulled a coil of rope from the black bag.  It looked soft.

The hunter turned to him and his face darkened.  “Eyes front, soldier.” he barked and Castiel felt his face flush as he turned towards the headboard again, lips parted in pleasure at the rough sound of Dean’s commanding voice.  It was dark and had the promise of that intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain in it.  Castiel squirmed.  

He heard Dean’s measured step draw closer and his wings rustled as he kept them splayed submissively for his hunter, every fiber of him striving to turn and take in the beauty of the human he had fallen for, in every aspect of the word.  But Dean had given him a command and Castiel obeyed.  

Dean’s fingers stroked over the top edge of his wing and he quivered.  That pleasurable quiver turned into a convulsion as Dean’s hands sought to understand the form of bone and muscle beneath, raking through his feathers roughly until he gripped just above Castiel’s flight feather and shoved the wing close to his body, bending it almost too quickly.  Feathers pinched and bent and Castiel’s hips bucked.  A voiceless whine left him, his eyes squeezing shut before they flew open in surprise.  Rope.  Dean was putting rope around his wings.  He nearly flared them wide and disappeared right then, the indignity of being trussed and tied by a _human_ too much.  

As the ropes creaked under his fury and he struggled to contain it, Dean laid a hand on his shoulder to still him.  “Cas, let me do this.  It ain’t anything you can’t get out of if you tried, right?” he spoke soothingly and Castiel shuddered, letting the bright sparks of his judgement fade to nothing.  He bit his lip, an unconscious gesture he’d picked up from Dean, and turned a trusting gaze on the hunter.  “Okay.” Dean said, and continued.  

The rope was black against his midnight blue wings, and Dean pinned the wing against his body to keep it folded, placing a network of knots and bands to keep the limb pinned flat before passing the rope against the sensitive space between his wings.  The root of each was bound thrice, a pleasant tension against soft feathers and weary muscle, the ropes passing over his chest keeping each knot right at the base to stimulate the junction of skin and down. 

Dean moved to his right and Castiel folded his wing for him, his head bowed as Dean repeated the knots and network of ropes on the second of his limbs.  He wasn’t sure that he liked it, and his physical reaction, his ‘boner,’ had wilted somewhat, still half-hard but resting against his trembling thigh.

Cool metal fastened around his wrists, and he realized he’d not even noticed Dean moving away from him.  He flexed his arms in the cuffs and realized that the rope was running between them, hooked to the chain that kept his wrists together, and suddenly the rope tightened.  

Castiel yelped.  His wings were compressed to his body as his arms bent at the elbow and his hands lifted.   He could feel Dean tying another knot as he struggled experimentally against the bonds.  He could flex his wings, but as he did, his hands were dragged uncomfortably high on his back.  If he pulled his hands down, his wings would cramp as they bent in on themselves almost too far.  

“Fuck, Cas.” Dean’s voice came from behind him, wrecked and ragged, and he felt the hunter’s hand impact his back, pushing him forward.  Without any way to catch himself, he face planted on the blanket, thighs spread as he fluttered ineffectively.  

“Dean, please!”  He shifted, letting his bound wings pull his wrists higher for a moment and ignoring the strain on his shoulders as he braced the midnight pinions against the bed and lifted his head to breathe.  He felt exposed, and he could feel the Dean’s eyes on him, raking over the rounded muscle of his ass and the puckered entrance between his cheeks.  The bag rustled as Dean pulled out another object and Castiel let his wings fold, cramped against his body again.  

The vessel was stressed, sweating, and Castiel huffed a breathless sigh into the blanket below him when he felt Dean’s hand press to his lower back.  His cock twitched in renewed interest as Dean ran his thumb into the cleft of his ass, expecting the blunt push of the digit against his opening.  Instead, there was a swish and a _crack_ , and Castiel bit down against a yelp, his arms twisting behind him as his wings struggled against the binding and flapped down against the bed with a loud ‘whump’.  

Dean had _hit him_ with something, and he looked back with wide eyes to spot the peculiar item gripped in Dean’s right hand.  As he watched, Dean pulled his hand back in a motion as though to backhand his upturned ass, and the strips of leather bit against his tender skin.  Strips of leather attached to a handle, not unlike the whips he had seen used on slaves for centuries.

The fire of humiliation in Castiel’s cheeks burned with a heat that matched the flush of pain in his ass.  Righteous fury rose in him and he growled against the blanket.  “Do you think of me as your slave, Dean?” he asked carefully, giving the hunter a chance before he smote him and threw him back into Hell, and Dean paused, and his hand caressed at the base of his spine.  

“What?  No.  It’s just a game, Cas.”  He leaned down over him and pressed a kiss to his head and Castiel couldn’t help but feel a little bit ridiculous for missing one of the intricacies of human gaming.  “Just play along.  But don’t like... kill me or anything, okay?”  

Disgruntled, and as yet unsure of the point of all this, Castiel grumbled into the blanket.  “Okay.”  He fluttered his wings again to test the ropes, feeling them work their way under his feathers to scrape smooth silk against skin, and he shuddered, tugging his hands down to ease the strain on his elbows.  

Dean ran the leather strips slow and gentle across his skin, then pulled back and whipped him again, the scattered nips of pain making him flinch and grunt, his hips bucking in what he initially thought was displeasure.  But Dean’s fingers slid between his cheeks again, circling his pucker and he clenched down just as another sharp strike hit him on the back of the thigh.  

He rocked forward to try to flee from the strikes, the unpredictable shocks of pain, the softness of the leather and the sounds of it striking his skin making him squirm uncomfortably.  It wasn’t particularly unpleasant, and he was growing to enjoy the warmth in his skin as suddenly the soft leather slapped gently against his balls.  

A breathless gasp left him as he bucked forward to get away from the strike.  It didn’t hurt, but it was shocking and it drove an utterly instinctive response through him.  Dean’s hand shot to the top of his head, gripping his hair and pushing him against the bed as he dropped his hand between his legs to grind the heel of his hand against his cock.  “Having fun, slut?  You hard for me?”  

Castiel glanced back at Dean, ready to remind him that he could obviously tell that he was hard, given that his hand was pressed against his cock, or that he couldn’t possibly be a slut when he’d been with one person in his life, but he decided against it as Dean squeezed down, the pressure making him give a rough squeal against the blankets.  “Dean!”  His wings tried to spread and the rope burned against his skin, a few fluffs of down drifting to the bed as he pulled his arms too far behind him.  

“That’s right.  Good boy.” he purred low in his throat and Castiel whimpered, bowing his back.  Dean moved back, and Castiel lost track of the strikes of the whip against his ass, his reality slowly narrowing down just to the screaming of his shoulders as he tried to find comfort between the stretch of his cramping wings and his over bent arms, the feel of Dean’s hands on him and the pain of leather snapping against his skin, the heat spreading through him as Dean was unmerciful with the flogger.  “Good boy, your skin is so pink for me.”   

Castiel dragged his head across the blankets to look back at him, lips parted as he panted heavily.  He had long since found himself hard again, Dean’s gentler strikes at his tight pucker making him quiver and clench needfully.  A wordless cry left him as Dean dragged his rough hand across his inflamed skin and smiled, wicked, down at him.  

“What do you need, baby.” he asked and Castiel whined.  If only he had the words to tell him what he needed.  He needed Dean’s cock, his tongue, his body against him, the bright flare of his soul as it strived to court the beauty of Castiel’s grace, so much smaller and so much dimmer but yet valiantly trying to seduce, like a sparrow courting a peacock.  He needed to please him, bend for him, _break and fall_ for him, but he couldn’t say any of it, because Dean would leave.

He settled for less than the poetry he felt and flapped his tightly bound wings ineffectively against the surface of the bed.  “Touch me!  Please, I need...”  He shuddered and bucked his hips, only barely able to rub his leaking cock to the blanket below and striving to thrust against that tiny iota of friction.  “I need to come!”  

Dean’s hand landed hard on his inflamed ass, and Castiel yelped desperately.  “I don’t think you deserve it.” he spoke soothingly as he rubbed the burning handprint.  “I’ll let you come when you’ve proven yourself worthy of it.”  And in that moment, Castiel knew he would do anything, _anything_ to prove his worth to the hunter above him.  

When Dean’s fingers pressed against his plush lips, he pulled them into his hot mouth, licking and sucking them quickly.  He remembered this from before.  He wet Dean’s fingers, and Dean then pushed them into him and then _bliss_.  He craned his neck and turned his head to pull them deeper into his mouth, swallowing as his tongue slipped between the two digits, eyes closed in deep satisfaction at being allowed to please his hunter.  

Dean made an obviously pleased noise above him, pulling his fingers slowly from the wet heat of Castiel’s mouth and he lunged upward to take them deep before he managed to pull away, his teeth grazing them as he blinked his eyes open.  The pads of Dean’s fingers skated over his lower lip and he pushed them in again and Castiel whimpered submissively, his wings tense and cramping at his sides.  

The hunter leaned forward over him, sliding his palm down the small of his back to press the slick fingers against his tightly muscled ring, and Castiel clenched down before remembering to relax for him.  Two fingers breached him and Dean rocked forward, gripping Cas’s hair with his left hand.  The fingers went deep, and Castiel’s mouth was guided near the throbbing thickness of Dean’s shaft, twitching and leaking.  He could feel precome smear against his cheek and into his hair as Dean’s hips rocked forward to rub his cock against his face.

Castiel didn’t have to be asked, he opened his mouth, lapping obediently at the looser skin at the base of his shaft, nibbling until Dean yanked him up to fit the head into his mouth.  The head pushed deep, a combination of Dean lifting his hips and pushing Castiel down forced him to his throat and into it and Castiel struggled for a moment against an unnecessary gag reflex.  “That’s it, good boy.” Dean grated out and Castiel rocked back against his fingers, tears springing to his eyes and matting his lashes down.  Dean’s praise was what he needed, more than anything, and as the hunter dragged him off only to push back into his throat again, his eyes fluttered shut and he swallowed raggedly against the pulsing shaft.

When Dean pulled out of his throat and left his mouth he moved quickly behind him, his fingers dragging out of Castiel’s clenching entrance only to be replaced with the slick cock that had so recently been in his mouth and Castiel whined in approval as he felt the stretch and burn of Dean taking him.

His hunter’s fingers raked through tousled feathers as his shaft filled him completely, Dean’s thighs pressed against Castiel’s trembling, burning ass as he rolled his hips at the completion of his thrust.  Castiel keened again, his voice trembling as Dean pulled back and drove forward, filling him with such heat that he could feel Dean’s heart beating inside him.  

Dean’s hands swept over his pinions, then up through the downy feathers at his shoulders and Castiel struggled to spread his wings for him, every desire in him wanting to splay them wide and present himself to Dean, submit to him, bow his head and worship the man pressing into him and showing him pleasure that Castiel had only felt once before.  

Dean’s hands gripped the rope that spanned his sensitive shoulders, and looped around the bases of his wings, using that as some form of leverage as he thrust deep and rough into his waiting body, and Castiel nearly howled at the sensation of the ropes pinching and chafing at his feathers, his wings tense and trembling as every feather puffed out.  “Dean!  Dean, please, Dean, I need...!”  He yelped and quivered and pushed his face against the bed to lift his hips for him.

Dean hushed him, and Castiel whimpered again, enduring the pleasure with dwindling patience.  “I’m gonna cum, Cas.” Dean whispered over him, half to himself, and Castiel exhaled sharply against the bed, pleasure pooling in his belly and the base of his spine as he felt the hunter still and groan out his name, wet heat flooding him before Dean tugged out of him.

Castiel felt a final weak pulse of semen splatter against his stretched muscle as Dean’s damp, strong hands slid over his body, tugging and untying certain strategic knots and allowing his wings to flop across the bed, weak at first but then tensing and shivering with pleasure as he flexed them.  Dean hauled him up to his chest, pushing his wings so they were wrapped around Cas, pinions pressed in a mass of black against the bed. 

Dean gripped a handful of feathers and Castiel began to realize Dean’s plan right as he brought the secondaries against his shaft, guiding the long pinions between his thighs.  Castiel had never in all of his years considered rubbing against his own wing to get off, but now this stupid little human was going to force it on him.  He tried to be indignant, but Dean had shoved two fingers in his ass and Castiel could feel him pushing through the slick that was his own release, fingers wet and warm as they pressed deeper and deeper.  Dean’s hand on his wing made him shudder and flutter, his hips bucking forward as he humped against his own silky feathers.

Castiel whined as he felt his balls grow tight, the wing that Dean did not have captive beating the air in pleasure as he succumbed to the electric feeling of Dean’s fingers pinching at his feathers and the soft silk of his own wing and the warm, thrusting fingers in his ass.  He could feel his grace gather and fought to warn Dean of the impending danger but all that came out of him was a scream.  Glass shattered in the bathroom and front window, exploding outward.  Light erupted from his body as pleasure overwhelmed his senses, Dean’s fingers thrusting into him even as he clamped down tight against the invading digits.  He came in long streaks against his wing, the pearly white liquid beading up and rolling down to drip against the bed as the light that was his grace dwindled slowly down to acceptable levels again.

He worried, once he could think again, but Dean assuaged his worry with a soft chuckle against his ear as the fingers slowly pulled out of him.  Castiel shuddered and slumped forward into his own wings, his feathers in disarray and his ass in the air.  Dean tugged him down so his back was pressed to Dean’s chest, both of them surrounded by the flurries of feathers that had been shaken loose by the ropes.  

 


End file.
